Carlisle and Esme In Three Parts: Part One
by Aury Lee
Summary: This is Part One of the my fic. Carlisle and Esme legacy. This is before Esme is changed by Carlisle, and how it lead up to that based on information from Stephenie Meyer. This is Esme's life before true love. PLEASE, GIVE ME REVIEWS! I LOVE THEM!
1. Chapter 1: Dr Cullen

PREFACE to PART ONE

"For heaven's sakes, child!" Her mother hissed under her voice- shooting a quick glance at the doorway to assure herself that the entire hospital couldn't not hear her shaming her daughter. She looked back, narrowing her dark brown eyes, shaking her head. "Esme- you are _far_ too old to be climbing a _tree_."

Esme felt a corner of her pink mouth lift into a smile. She said _tree_ as if it were a hellish disease. Esme quickly wiped away her sweet smile as her Ruth Platt deeply scowled her.

"I'm sorry," Esme murmured, lifting her eyebrows sympathetically. "I'm sorry that you had to find a doctor at the very last moment." Esme narrowed her eyes for a moment, then added, "I'm sorry that father wasn't there to take me to the hospital." Esme thought of the farm, and murmured sympathetically, "I know that you have been making extraordinary efforts on the farm while he's away, and I can't help but thank you for attempting to carry me." The kind sixteen-year-old forced a soft smile, but her mother kept a frown on her weary face.

Mrs. Platt hesitatated, taking in her daughter's apology. She thought it was ridiculous that her daughter had to be so humble, and she straightened her back, tightly gripping her purse in her bare hands. She looked down at her fingers- forgetting that she had left her gloves at the farm. She had been in such a hysterical rush to take Esme to the doctor, that it was as if she had forgotten her manners. Her fingernails held dirt underneath them, from where she had pulled wailing Esme out of the mud.

"Do you not know that it is not so clever to climb a _wet_ tree?" she mumbled bitterly.

Esme took a deep breath for the battle was not won. Silently, she replied, "I told you that I was sorry."

Ruth looked her daughter up and down, her lips set in a tight line. She was astounded that she did not realize that Esme's blue nightgown was covered in filth. Her legs had clearly visible scratches on her skin, and small droplets of blood had dried beside them.

Then, narrowing her eyes, she saw the bruise around her ankle, and mumbled, "You're not a child any longer, Esme."

Esme sighed deeply. "I know that, Mother, and like I've told you before… I'm sorry."

Ruth shook her head. "You cannot always apologize for your childish mishaps, Esme. You're a woman, and if any man saw you climbing tree, he would frown upon it."

So this about men, Esme thought to herself. I fell from a tree, and the only thing she can think about is her ideas of 'healthy' marriage. It made her heart ache to realize that her mother was being self-centered, and she took another deep breath, holding onto the edges of the white bed, her leg aching. She bit her lip to restrain from whimpering from sudden sharp pains, and she squinted her eyes shut, feeling tears of pain well up in her caramel- colored eyes.

"If you hadn't been so idiotic-" Ruth continued stubbornly.

Esme gasped from another sharp pain, and gasped, "I know, Mother! I'm sorry!" Then, astounded by the sudden silence, she opened up her wet eyes to see her mother's face turned away from her, and looking at the vision that stood in the doorway, holding a bottle of- something that must hurt, Esme thought- and bandages. Esme looked up at his face, and felt her breathing accelerate.

He had the face of an angel, and he held his lips in a gentle, yet something concerned, smile. She was distracted by it for a moment, as thoughts raced through her mind of beautiful Italian statues she had seen in books in the library so long ago when she was just a child. Myths and silly stories, she thought they were once, these men are rocks, but what a world it would be if they moved and spoke as we do?

As Carlisle Cullen moved swiftly towards her, she felt as if the wind had been taken from her lungs. She choked on her own breathing, and heat rose to her cheeks.

"My apologies that Dr. Smith is absent from the hospital tonight," he said with a rich, comforting voice.

Esme thought it was thick with velvety richness and filled with a delightful friendliness that made her feel so comfortable in the room with her bitter mother and her aching leg. She waited for him to speak more.

"The staff called for me, and I hope I have not kept you waiting," he said to Mother, then glancing at me with bright, bronze eyes. He added kindly, and directly to me, it seemed, "I am Dr. Carlisle Cullen."

Esme stifled a small gasp when those strangely beautiful and warm, golden eyes met hers.

Mother's bitterness seemed to leave her as she replied, "Forgive me for coming in so late in the evening, but Miss Platt has fallen, and I'm afraid-" she spoke so properly, and she did not label Esme as her own daughter.

Esme thought that Ruth was trying to show her off to the doctor. Esme blushed unconsciously, biting her bottom lip. She tucked a light brown curl behind her ear, and took a deep breath, feeling her palms sweat a little.

Dr. Cullen finished Mrs. Platt's words, saying, "She has had quite an injury." He looked towards Esme who shyly nodded, her eyes not removing from his. She made another attempt to, and tried to focus on her purplish leg.

"Esme," he called her name, and she instinctively looked up into his face from where he stood right by her, his hands resting the bandages and the liquid on a small silver tray on his table. "How did you hurt yourself like this?" As he had said hurt, he had looked over the scratches on her legs. His bronze eyes worriedly rested on her right leg which was slightly trembling. He gently laid the tips of his fingertips on her knee, his palm barely touching her skin.

It felt better. He must had just come in from the cold, because a frostiness seemed to spread on her knee from his hand.

"I fell from a tree," she simply said, not even looking at her mother who was probably shaking her head.

Carlisle lifted his head from her leg, and looked at her, narrowing those golden eyes. "Do you enjoy to climb- as a past time, Miss Platt?"

She hesitated, the redness spreading on her cheeks. Lowering her eyes, she realized that her eyelashes were wet with past tears, and he looked at them now. She rubbed them away from her eyes, then looked slowly up at him again. Then, she replied, "I just wanted to climb a tree this once." She forced a smile, and he the corners of his mouth lifted into a gentle smile.

He nodded, then turned to grab a towel and the liquid. He spoke as he did. "We indulge in those kinds of things now and again."

Esme was glad he understood, and she agreed, smiling. "I always climbed trees when I was a little girl. I- I couldn't help myself."

Carlisle turned to face her, smiling very clearly now. He chuckled warmly and melodiously.

_She's such a beautiful young woman_, Carlisle thought to himself. _She'll grow older soon, and she will make an incredibly lucky man beyond happy. She has heart._

Esme felt silly, babbling to a stranger, and she could already hear her mother angrily regarding to her speaking stunt later when- if- they would return home. But Dr. Cullen understood her, and she felt so comfortable- yet so stupid and awkward- around him.

She would try not to speak so much.

"Esme," Carlisle murmured to her, pouring the liquid onto the white towel, "This might burn a little-" he met her youthful eyes, finding a slight grimace upon her beautiful face. He felt sorry for it, but he wanted to help her become better. He added encouragingly, "But you're a strong woman. I believe you will be just fine."

Esme blushed, smiling softly at him.

"Will you be strong for me?" he asked her as if they were the only two in the room.

The earth seemed to revolve around Carlisle Cullen for a moment, Esme was thinking rapidly. She would remember it always.

As Carlisle gently massaged his cool marble fingers into her aching leg, the pain seemed to fade away.


	2. Chapter 2: Charles

CHAPTER ONE

1919, SPRING, MILIWAUKEE

Esme sat on the bed, her bare knees pulled to her chest. Her dark caramel curls fell in front of her face as she sobbed pitifully in her shaking knees. Chills ran across her skin from the wind that blew in from the open door, and the finger that began to trace her elbow and her wrist in a taunting way.

"What's the matter, darling?" he murmured treacherously. She could hear the tormenting happiness in his voice, and smell the whiskey as his mouth breathed close to her ear where blood slowly dripped from the side of her face from her forehead.

"Ah," he dramatically groaned. "Did I hit you too hard?"

She tried to contain them, but the sobs became more choking as her eyes lifted to the rifle in his hands.

He saw her look, and grinned. "Eh- you're damn lucky it isn't loaded, either, Mrs. Evenson." He laughed, then slowly nudged her chin with the butt of the gun.

Esme was itching to push it away, but she couldn't bring herself to raising a finger.

Charles was enjoying the helplessness, because he indulged her. He enjoyed hurting her. He savored the look in those chocolate brown eyes when she was forced to surrender completely to him in the most awful fashion.

Thinking of his hell 'games', Esme sobbed harder, and completely felt herself dying inside. She couldn't speak- fearing that he would hit her again. She couldn't deny him- knowing that he'd kill her. But she couldn't stay around him- not when she was in danger, and completely forced to live a waking nightmare with him for the rest of her life.

In spite of the way, her mother had always bragged about how much money he had, and how polite he was, Esme found the real side of him- the one that he hid with a mask of a gentlemen from the public that idolized him at the parties the bank hosted. She remembered their wedding- how happy she was. She thought it would be a new life, and it was. She didn't know it would hurt. She never had given thought that he- Charles Evenson- would hurt her. These first sighs- those awful gestures that marked impending doom- had only been realized on their honeymoon when she was forced to yield to him like a slave. She felt like she had been cut, torn, stabbed, and ripped to pieces, and she felt this… every single day- every passing moment, awake or asleep.

That isn't right, she had thought, there's something wrong. This isn't supposed to happen. Did mother know that he would do this to me? Was she happy to be rid of him? Does father see us from Heaven? I wonder if he ever suspected Charles was- a monster?

"Why so silent, my other half?" he cupped her heart-shaped face in his black-gloved hands, forcing his bottom lip into a pout. "My beloved… are we having an issue?"

The tears ran down her face, and she squinted them shut, as if he would fade away.

His hand struck her cheek, and she grabbed her face, sobbing, tearing away from him. She fell onto the wooden floor, blood trickling from the side of her mouth. He angrily stormed towards her, and yanked her by the elbow up from the floor. He shook her, and she felt dizzy. Her heart pounded against her chest, and droplets of sweat fell from his forehead, and onto her chest where her blue dress was ripped.

He had ripped it, and now, he tore the sleeves off, laughing.

"I said 'are we having an issue'?" Her dress ripped, and her stomach was bare.

She buried her face in her hands, and couldn't make herself crawl away from him.

"That's it," he grimaced. "You've done, you've done it, Esme, my other half." He pulled her face up to him by pulling a long curl her hair.

She tasted her salty tears and iron blood and his sweat as he crushed her lips angrily, and hatefully.

_Help me fly away from here_, she prayed.

"Edward?"

"Yes, Carlisle?" he said smoothly, touching the polished white keys with the tips of his marble fingers.

"I heard the music."

Edward lifted one corner of his mouth into a crooked smile. "Humph. I'm afraid I like this thing."

Carlisle Cullen moved towards the black piano, his hands held behind his back. He wore his white shirt- untucked- from his cream trousers. The suspenders were off of his shoulders, and he felt comfortable.

_I love to help people. I've made it part of my life, now. But, it does suffice to have a day off, _Carlisle thought, taking an unnecessary sigh.

"Everyone needs time to relax," Edward murmured, pressing down on several keys- gracefully combining it into an astounding score that made Carlisle raise his eyebrows in amazement.

Edward looked up at him, and smiled. "Practice makes perfect."

Carlisle shook his head, and looked at his reflection on the uplifted piano head. "Of course, but you haven't had this piano long. We purchased but two weeks ago in Ohio."

Edward made another special performance on the musical keys confidently, yet concentrating, as Carlisle watched him in slight awe, but, in a way, Carlisle expected something like this from his companion.

"You should learn more songs, Edward," Carlisle murmured, walking towards the library. "It sounds nice."

Edward narrowed his bright bronze eyes. "You mean in a house like this?"

Carlisle nodded. "It's very quite here."

Edward stood up from the piano, and closed the lid swiftly and noiselessly. "Not for me. I have to hear what's inside your head all the time." He chuckled, striding up stairs to his room. "It's not particularly normal."

Carlisle shook his head, grinning, and murmured, "Nothing is particularly normal with Edward Cullen around."

"I heard that, Carlisle!"


	3. Chapter 3: The Escape

CHAPTER THREE

The train station was enveloped by a heavy fog that sent chills across her bare hands.

Esme had abandoned the only pair of gloves she possessed with the monster back at that miserable house. Thinking of the monster brought tears in her eyes, and she took a deep breath, squinting them- forcing the salty droplets away. She pulled her blue coat tighter around her, and pulled a caramel curl behind her frozen ear. She took another deep breath, this time, opening her eyes, and watching the air leave her mouth in a fog cloud smaller than the haze that surrounded her legs now.

"Are you boarding the train, miss?" An elderly man's voice said.

Before answering what Esme realized as the ticket master, a noise from behind her startled her, and she quickly turned around.

No one exactly came to the train station this late in the night, she thought in rushes of her mind. She searched for any rare faces- especially Charles, and found the back of a man who stood at the old telephone booth.

He was wearing a dark brown coat, and black trousers. He gripped the phone booth, indistinctly speaking into the red phone. She stared at the back of his blonde head for several moments, her kind and beaten heart picking up at an accelerating pace.

It wasn't Charles, but-

She wished he would turn around. She couldn't say or even think why she wanted to see his face, but she had this idea- or rather, memory- in her head that wouldn't fade away. She waited- impatient now- then tried shaking it away.

Esme wearily turned back to the ticket master, and replied, "Is it to Ohio?" She knew it was. She didn't know why she asked. She figured she only did because she was so tired.

The ticket master hesitated, then murmured, "Yes, miss." After another moment, as Esme looked into his wrinkled face with her sad and terrified, brown eyes, and he added as politely as possible, "Do you have a ticket for Ohio?"

She nodded, mentally distracted by the familiar man in the telephone booth. Then, she murmured, "Yes, I am." She didn't want to be rude, but she had to sit down. "May I go in?"

Pondering her strange mood, he said, "May I have your ticket?"

"Oh," she stammered. She pulled her clutch up to her chest for a moment, looking inside, then shook her head 'no'. She reached into her coat pocket, and, with a sigh of relief, pulled out the scrap of paper and handed it to him- quickly. "Here."

After a drop of sweat trickled down the side of her cheek, she rushed towards the train, carrying one small bag of her only clothing left. She walked through the open door, and stood in an empty pathway with the crimson velvet seats on either side.

The ticket master stepped in, and excused himself whilst passing by her to the front.

She looked after him for a moment, then turned to look out the open door behind her beyond the platform- her stomach tight.

She was expecting Charles to step out from behind one of the columns. She imagined him running onto the platform, and lunging into the train. She already felt his hands gripping her elbows, and his filthy fingernails digging into her skin. She smelt his foul whiskey breath spraying into her mouth, and his mustache bristling against the nape of her neck.

With a sigh of relief, she saw him nowhere in sight, but she wasn't home free yet. The train hadn't began to move.

Esme drew slowly down the aisle, wiping the sweat from her forehead. She found a seat, and sat herself down, placing her bag beside her, and slipping the clutch into her coat pocket which she pulled tighter around her, the cold air waving over her body.

If Charles was to ever find her- If he- she found her bottom lip trembling. If Charles was to board this train, and find her, she would never have another chance to run away again.

She closed her eyes, her back pressing uneasily back in the seat.

She saw his face- tormenting and laughing- in her head, although she tried to shake it away.

"Are you all right?" The ticket master spoke in a friendly voice.

Esme gasped, startled, sharply turning to look at him, some curls tumbling from the loose pins in her hair. Her heart relaxed more, finding the elderly man's face. "Pardon?"

He hesitated, then told her, "The train is leaving, now."

Esme slowly began to nod. "Oh- thank you."

He nodded, then walked back to the front of the train again, leaving her- not exactly at ease, but somewhat safe- in the seat.

Esme leaned her head against the cold window, her eyes beholding the blonde man at the telephone booth. His face was turned towards the station, now, and for some reason, she was disappointed.

He was standing right outside the booth, a smile on his face. A young woman walked towards him, in a brown coat and a dark red dress. She had her red hair in a tight bun, and she was laughing. Esme saw tears streaming down her face as he lifted his arms out to her, and they embraced- passionately.

For the first time in forever- she felt young. It reminded her of the silent movie she had watched when she was fifteen- one with the hero he lifted he damsel up in his arms and laid his lips upon hers. It had made her blush so much she was to the point of giggling. For the first time in a long time- like her old self- Esme felt herself softly smiling.

The blonde man kissed the girl now, passionately.

Esme turned away from the window- leaving them their privacy- then closed her eyes as the train started to move farther and farther away from the platform.

Her heart gave a hopeful leap, and she took a deep, calm breath.

Her stomach suddenly ached, and her eyes flashed open. Her hands reached down and held her gut, grimacing. She bit her bottom lip, narrowing her eyes to her feet which shook in their short heels. Esme had never felt this sort of ache, and she wished it would go away. It hurt so badly she was whimpering. It was almost embarrassing. Her eyes glazed over the seats before, beside her, and behind her, but she was completely alone. She began to slightly groan, and she leaned her head back against the seat, taking deep breaths. They helped only a little, and she prayed that the pain would stop.

To distract the pain she was preoccupied with, she thought of something else- something she had given serious thought to.

Would her cousin welcome her with open arms in Ohio? Her and her husband were- Esme didn't know. She had only met her cousin three times. She met her once more at their wedding- when she was married. Her name was Margaret and her husband's name was Clyde. She remembered a time when she would run through the forest with Margaret, but she thought that the cousin would have forgotten. Esme prayed to God that she still remembered her. She would have nowhere to go, if Margaret didn't recognize her. But once Esme convinced her she was family, she hoped that Margaret and Clyde would- not be obligated- but willing to let her stay for- maybe a whole year.

Esme suddenly realized that the idea was extraordinary. A year? How would they? The thought made Esme anxious, and she wished she could have sent a letter. But Charles- but Charles was hovering over her every moment the past week. That made her shudder, and she felt her knees weaken. She had started to write a letter, but, knowing that Charles sent the letters and handled the ones we received, he would find the plea, and- Esme narrowed her eyes- he would hurt her more than she already was. Esme didn't think she could be hurt anymore than she had, but she didn't want to linger on that thought that brought up so many nightmarish images

Esme tried to contain positive thoughts, realizing that the pain in her stomach had faded, and, now, that the train was leaving Milawaukee and Charles, she felt it was a good time to sleep.

Carlisle stepped into the sunlight, glancing at the diamonds reflecting off of his alabaster skin. His lips were set in a tight line, and his jaw was held in a tight lock. His darkened eyes- resembling dark storm clouds- were taking in the forest around him. His hands brushed against the barks of the tall trees, feeling every living creature stumble as he took silent steps across the damp ground.

A small droplet of rain fell from a branch from the one of the tall green trees, and he held out his hand, watching it drop onto his snow white palm.

He watched the sunlight reflect off the rain drop, then hitched up to running again, the water sliding off of his hand as quickly as it fell onto it.

Edward jumped from the branches above him, and landed gracefully next to his father, running ahead of him.

_We are raindrops,_ Edward thought to himself, feeding off of Carlisle's views on the water droplet. _We are cold and our skin reflects the rays of sunshine. Except we are not clear, and no one can see through us. We marvel, though, and fascinate as we fall from the storm clouds. Although, we seldom fall into people's palms. If that happened, they wouldn't know what hit them._

Edward narrowed his eyes on the thought 'hit them'.

As the sound of prey met their ears, Carlisle and Edward instantly stopped, in crouching position.

Carlisle's blonde hair fell into his face as he crept closer to the boulder, and peered over the side at a stag that peacefully ate wet green grass. He withheld the grumble in his throat, and slowly slid forward like a lion. His shoulder blades rubbing against the crispness of his blue shirt, he sauntered towards the stag. He was peaceful, rather than starving. He had become so cautious around blood, even an animal didn't stir him. He almost felt like part of the forest- an animal, himself- continuing a circle of life.

Edward crept across from him noiselessly. Carlisle almost didn't even realize he was there. He could hear the low rumble in his chest that only he could hear.

Carlisle was so close to the stag, now, that he could hear it's heart pounding, relaxed.

The animal was content, eating it's simple grass.

Edward could hear Carlisle's serene thoughts, and he wished he could be so calm when making the encounter that would soon turn into violence.

To their ears, a doe ran into view, and sprung to a spot beside the stag, and began licking at it's nose.

Carlisle couldn't help but feel the corner of his lips lift into a smile.

Edward still crept forward, his black eyes fixated on the doe. Carlisle stared at the stag, still calm.

Then, they pounced the doe and the stag, fulfilling the thirst that burned in their throats.

The kill was quick and short.

Carlisle pulled away from the remains, his ears picking up another noise. Edward leaned up from the doe, the blood clean from his marble lips. Their faces turned towards a brush where, numbly and wobbly, a fawn walked out of the grass, it's big brown eyes looking wildly from Edward to Carlisle. Then, it's eyes rested on the fawn and stag.

Edward narrowed his eyes, and slowly slinked back into the tall grass. Carlisle listened as he ran away- back to the house. Carlisle stayed- his golden eyes sympathetically watching the fawn as it drew towards the doe, and began licking it's ankle. Carlisle sighed unnecessarily, and silently drew towards the fawn.

Looking up at him, startled, it began to move it's shaking legs to run, but Carlisle gently lifted it up into his arms, and ran through the forest- his mind focused on the farm right outside of the forest.

A family named the Roberstons resided there, and Carlisle had seen young children there before- two young girls and a small boy. They would play with the fawn. Carlisle had met the woman who lived there once at the hospital. She was kind and generous. Carlisle thought that she would nourish the fawn, maybe.

Back at the house, Edward stood on the front porch, his arms folded over his chest. He could hear tiny hints of Carlisle's thoughts.

"Leave it where it is," Edward murmured, as if Carlisle could hear him.

He was more than a few miles away, and Carlisle was already standing behind a tree, watching one of the daughters timidly walk towards the fawn in the meadow behind their farm. She knelt down on her knees, crawling towards the babe. She was stifling giggles as it began to wobbly walk towards her.

Carlisle smiled at the forward creature, then warmly chuckled as the young girl picked it up, and buried her face in it's neck. Then, she took off back towards the large house beside the red barn, happily smiling- her chocolate curls flying behind her. One of her blue ribbons came loose as she ran, and landed softly behind her in the golden grass.

Then, as quietly as he came, Carlisle ran from the edge of the forest, and back to the house, past the trees. He saw Edward through the window of the house, playing on the piano. He could hear the music from inside, and found that, instead of being soft as usual, there was an edge to the melody- and Carlisle questioned Edward's mood.

Carlisle ran a cold hand through his damp blonde hair, and stepped inside the house- his mind no longer on his son, but of the little girl who had found the fawn.

She had reminded him of someone. Her youthfulness and the way she smiled. What made Carlisle feel peculiar, was how he had looked at the fawn. He felt the need to protect it. He pitied it because of the sad look in it's brown eyes. Those brown eyes remained in his head, but there was another face. He thought it was that little Roberston girl, but it was an older face- just as beautiful and sixteen.

Carlisle moved by the window, staring out the cold glass, and folding his arms across his broad chest.

He looked like a marble statue, leaning there. His eyes were made of golden, and, though he denied it, so was his soul.

From the piano that still played, Edward slowly turned to look at him.

"So, the fawn was found by the Roberston daughter?" Edward murmured.

Carlisle nodded his head, his eyes still staring out the window at the small mist of invisible rain. "Yes. It is in a better home, now."

Edward turned back to the piano, and sighed. "I see. I always knew you cared."

Carlisle grinned at his subtle humor, and added, "Those children will be happy with a pet such as that."

Edward chuckled gently. "An unusual pet a deer makes, hmm?"

"They live on a farm, Edward." Then, Carlisle added, walking down the hall to the library. "The family supports animals." Then, he chuckled. "Goats and sheep."

Edward grinned, playing on the keys a more gentle melody. "Baah!"

Carlisle entered the library, smoothly laughing, but, soon, his eyes thought of the chocolate curls and the big brown eyes- sad and youthful. He remembered the sixteen year old in the hospital years ago, and thought of the name that made him smile, '_Esme Ann Platt'_.


	4. Chapter 4: Margaret

CHAPTER FOUR

OHIO

"Er- may I help you, miss?"

Esme stood in front of the doorway, her brown eyes beginning to glisten with unexpected tears as she looked upon what she knew was Margaret's husband- Clyde.

She instantly wiped them away before they could even make their stream down her cold face, and she realized that this was overwhelming and her stomach was hurting again.

_What if this goes wrong? _She worriedly thought. _What if they know about Charles, and they start asking questions? What if they write him, just for convenience, and tell him that I am with them? Would Charles bother looking for me- since he hates me so much? Perhaps he won't care searching for me… but what if he tells my mother? My mother will make such an ordeal of it_. Then Esme narrowed her eyes. _If my daughter went missing, I'd worry, too_… Esme bit her bottom lip... _but she wouldn't have made me stay with a man who is killing me every moment of my life, now. No. I would not make my daughter do that_.

"I'm sorry- do I know you?" a familiar and concerned voice said.

It was nice to hear someone that was concerned.

Esme lifted her head to look at the woman's face.

She had dark brown hair pulled back with a white ribbon, and she wore a blue nightgown with a brown coat. She had her eyes narrowed, scanning Esme up and down- recognizing her little by little. Margaret tried to collect as much images of this familiar woman as possible.

Esme soon gathered enough courage, and asked her nervously, "Are you Margaret?"

Margaret gently grabbed her husband's wrist, drawing the lantern closer to Esme's pale face. The rain fell in a mist behind her, and Margaret instantly pitied her. She was also intrigued by those familiar eyes that seemed to run in the family- only Esme's were brighter and hazel-like.

"I am Margaret," she told Esme- yet she was hesitant.

This was a stranger… or maybe not?

Esme sighed one of relief, and replied, "My name is Esme Ann… Platt, and you are my cousin. Do you remember me?"

Margaret felt her heart kick up to a race, and, to Esme's desperate wishes, she wrapped her arms around her, and instantly pulled her inside. "I know who you are. Let's get you out of this rain. Come on."

Esme couldn't help, but smile as she was pulled inside the house, and Margaret Platt Robertson poured some hot water in the bathtub for her, and they spoke of their childhood and what their lives had been like recently.

It was so hard to exclude Charles from the conversation. Esme didn't want to speak about, but she knew Margaret would ask about it sooner or later. Esme believed that she had seen Margaret and Clyde briefly at her wedding with Charles, but she wasn't certain.

She obviously did, because Margaret asked after a long moment of silence, "Why have you come so late in the night- without your husband? Oh- what was his name?"

Esme hesitated, then forced a smile at her cousin. "His name is Charles." She tried to act normal. "Didn't you meet him at the wedding, dear?"

Margaret hesitated, then nodded. "Ah- yes. I did. I remember."

Esme took a deep breath, splashing some water in her face.

"Why isn't he with you?" Esme heard her voice say over the splashing of water.

Esme turned her head towards her, narrowing her eyes unconsciously. She felt her stomach ache again, and she grimaced, kicking the other side of the tub accidentally. Margaret jumped from the stool she sat on, fright splayed on her freckled face.

"Esme- what happened?"

Esme leaned her head back, her whimpering silencing, and her stomach ceasing to hurt. She had goose-bumps on her skin in spite of the heat of the soap water. She shook her head. "I-I think it's time for me to get out of the water, Margaret. I'm sorry for scaring you."

Margaret shook her head, saying, "No, no, it's all right, Esme. Let me get you a towel, and a fresh nightgown for you."

This was exceedingly kind, and Esme gently grabbed the towel her dear cousin handed her, and dried herself off. Margaret gave her a nightgown, and helped Esme slip it over her head like a child. She gave her a navy blue robe, and also helped her pull her arms through the silk sleeves.

"This is so generous of you, Margaret, dear," Esme thanked.

Margaret rolled her eyes lovingly. "It is the least I could do for you. Now, we have a bedroom for you upstairs, and I'll send you up there, and go get you some nice, warm quilts."

Esme began to protest, feeling spoiled, but Margaret grabbed her hand, and began walking her upstairs to her room. Margaret stopped all of the sudden, looking down at some muddy footprints on the crimson carpet.

"Oh, God," Margaret groaned, kneeling down to the floor.

Esme began to bend over to look at it, too, but her stomach began hurting so sharply, that she decided to forget it.

"What kind of animal have the children brought in, now?"

Esme felt a smile grow on her sweet face. "Children?"

Margaret nodded, leading her into a rather large, baby blue room with a twin bed by a large window and a dresser with a mirror and a lamp on top of it.

Margaret continued in a rather weary voice, "I have three- two girls and one boy. Their names are Lily, Annabelle, and Joseph."

"Oh," Esme sighed. "That's wonderful."

"I suppose you don't have any of your own- or you left them with your… husband or your mother?" Margaret questioned curiously, laying out a guilt on the bed.

Esme hesitated, bothered by 'husband', 'mother', and the fact that Charles never wanted children. The one thing Esme always wanted: motherhood.

"I don't have any children," Esme breathed sadly.

Margaret nodded, understandingly, then decided to change the subject. She had heard sadness in Esme's voice, and thought not to linger on it. Instead, she began to fluff the duck-feather pillows, gently humming.

Esme wished she could stay here for a long time, and she felt that she would indeed. Perhaps, if that was the case, she could find a job, and purchase an apartment herself, somewhere near here- the farm.

"Do you think I can find any work in this town?"

Margaret smiled, and she leaned up, placing her hands on her hips. "Oh- I teach at a school a few miles from here. You can, too, if you'd like."

Esme was filled with happiness, instantly. "I'd love to. Is it possible?"

"Of course- you can start with me in two days- only if you'd like?" Margaret waited for an answer.

Esme quickly nodded. "Yes."

Margaret began to leave the room, smiling gleefully. "All right. I am going to get you some tea, and see what kind of creature the children have in their room."

Esme giggled, and watched her leave. Then, knowing that she was gone, Esme jumped onto the bed, and buried her face in the pillow- warmed.

It was wonderful- to be away from… him. She felt safe… and loved. She felt like she had something good ahead of her. She was in a place that gave her a bright future, and she was certain of it. Charles wouldn't come looking for her, and her mother wouldn't care.

Before Esme knew it, she began to fall asleep. The last thing she heard was a frantic voice shouting, "How'd you get that deer in your room?"

Carlisle swiftly climbed into his truck, and began to drive out of the hospital lot. He smoothly drove down the road passed the trees, his hands doing the work, as his mind lived a waking nightmare.

He had been treating a young girl who had cut her wrists.

It had disturbed him, and he had been as gentle with her as possible. Carlisle thought of her father who was being dragged down the hall by the doctors- still shouting at the child.

It was terrible, he thought. She was so miserable and depressed. He saw the strangulations on her small neck, and the red marks beneath her icy blue eyes.

Carlisle had kept thinking about how much of an infant she resembled.

She was so young and so soft- yet sad. She was without a doubt, miserable.

Carlisle suddenly wished there was something he could about it, but he only bandaged her wrists, and soothed her calmly. He even had tucked a piece of blonde hair behind her ear.

It was as if he was seeing Edward again.

He had been lying in a bed, sweating, and miserable. The red marks underneath his eyes deceived the calmness he tried to keep. Everything was deceived about Edward, though. The sheets of sweat on his chest and face were only minor results of the Spanish Influenza, and his shaking was enough to bring down a house of cement.

Having to leave the young girl put a damper on Carlisle's day, and he knew Edward would mention it. Carlisle kept on thinking about the blood dried on her hands, and the most horrible expression of angst and sadness as her father shouted the worst curses a human- anyone- could hear about themselves.

The father, James Worthington, was arrested, and Carlisle was ensured that the girl would be living with an aunt in Kansas.

Carlisle pulled the truck down the path, but took a sudden detour to where he would sit by the waterfall, and relax. He knew there was something else he was thinking of-though. He was thinking of Esme Ann Platt. He remembered her caramel brown curls and those big brown eyes- innocent and beautiful. She had smelled like faint strawberries, and it was almost intoxicating. Her aroma had lifted into his nose as he had massaged her broken leg gently, caressing her skin. He was not thinking that certain thought, then. It seemed too wrong- a twenty-three year old with a innocent sixteen-year-old. He did know she was lovely, but, now, that he thought of her- now that he would never see her again- he doted on her as an angel.

He kept thinking about why he would, but he knew it was true. She resembled an angel with all her remarkably girlish glow, and her vivid innocence. She knew of mature things, but she had the pure kindness that is a rarity in the world.

Carlisle knew, though, that wherever she was- she was married to a husband that didn't deserve her, had children that loved her, and a beautiful home that should be a castle instead… for one such as her.

Back at the house, Edward sat in his room, reading- although he convinced himself that it was ridiculous 'hate-story- Wuthering Heights.

After a long moment of silence, he clamped the book shut, and placed it back on the shelf- telling himself that is a waste of time. Then again, he figured he had all the time in the world.

Edward narrowed his bronze eyes.


	5. Chapter 5: Releasing Sunshine

CHAPTER FIVE

Annabelle held one of the folds of Esme's dark brown skirt, rubbing some tears away from beneath her small brown eyes. Esme looked down at her, gently smiling, and holding the young deer closer to her chest.

"I don't want to let Sunshine go," she cried, burying her face in Esme's leg.

Esme sympathetically looked at her, and sighed, "I know, honey."

Margaret had made more than enough complaints of having the deer in the house. It had grown a bit the past four weeks, and so had Esme's happiness. In fact- it had grown quite large.

Esme grinned.

"I love Sunshine," Annabelle whimpered.

Esme looked down at her, and murmured, "You know- Sunshine will be much happier in the woods?"

As they drew towards the edge of the forest, Annabelle asked in a sad voice, "What's wrong with living on the farm?"

Esme sighed. "Honey- Sunshine is going to find a new family- just like him- in the forest. Don't you know, that, love?"

Annabelle hesitated, lifting her eyebrows, finding a new perspective on this. "You mean- will Sunshine get married with a girl deer?"

Esme giggled at her use of words, and bent down the best she could, and kissed the top of the girl's head. "Yes. I suppose so."

Annabelle giggled herself. "Then- will the girl deer have a baby?"

Esme started to laugh, then her melodious laughter faded into deep thought. She peered down at her belly, and bit her bottom lip.

Pregnant.

Margaret had kept asking her if she was going to tell her husband, and Esme finally told her the story- that most, nightmarish story of those dark days that weren't so long ago. It was when she was being destroyed by Charles- abused and beaten. The bruises on her body were from Charles, and a cut a little above her eyebrow- shown to Margaret- was from his fingernail that had slapped her cheek one night… when she was made to surrender.

Esme shuddered at the thought, but was comforted at the thought that, now, Margaret knew, and Margaret would keep her on the farm.

"Are you all right, Esme?" Annabelle's little, sweet voice interrupted her thoughts, and Esme replied kindly, "Yes, dear?"

"We're at the woods, now…." Then, her eyes glistened with tears again. "Are we going to give him back now?"

Esme hesitated a moment, staring at the woods all around her. She looked down at the deer that stayed in her arms- it's two back legs touching her knees, and it's front legs curled up above her left wrist. It had gotten heavy, and older- old enough to take care of itself, now. Her caramel brown hair fell in it's adorable face, and Esme quickly pulled the curls behind her ears- trying not to drop the thing- then smiled at it's big brown eyes.

"Do you want to keep it, t-t-too?"

Esme smiled down at Annabelle, and replied, shaking her head. "I wish we could, but this is for the best, Belle, honey." Then, kneeling down by the a tall green tree, Esme gently sat the thing down on it's four legs, where it looked at Annabelle for a moment, then at Esme, then ran off into the woods.

Annabelle began to softly cry, and Esme picked her up into her arms, and kissed her on the forehead. She had to put the girl back down because the baby began to kick. Esme laid her hands on her knees, grimacing. Annabelle stared at her strangely, then peered at her through glistening eyes, "Are you okay, Aunt Esme?"

Esme gathered the strength to stand back up, and replied happily, "I'm fine, dear…. Are you all right?"

Annabelle looked ahead of her at the tall, green trees, and deeply sighed. "Are you sure he'll be okay?"

Esme smiled at the child, and gently took her hand. "Sunshine is going to be incredibly happy."

Then, Esme and Annabelle began to walk back to the farm where Margaret met them along the way.

"Annabelle, darling, why don't you go eat some dinner with your father?" Margaret shooed her daughter away, and Esme watched the child run up the hill to Clyde who waved to her.

Margaret turned towards her, and grabbed her shoulders. "How are you feeling- I mean- the baby?"

Esme gently smiled, laying her hands on her rounded stomach. "It's been kicking."

Margaret laughed. "Isn't it wonderful?"

Esme giggled. "It is extraordinary… but it hurts so badly! Why does it have to hurt?"

They laughed, and began to walk towards the house again.

"So- when do you think the kiddo's coming?"

Esme hesitated, then answered, "Whenever the kiddo's ready."

Margaret grinned, and added, "Are you ready, Esme?"

Esme turned to her, and laughed, "Margaret, honey- I've always wanted a child of my own." With a more serious voice, she continued, "I watch you with your children, and I can't help but envy you. You are the luckiest woman in the world."

Margaret patted her cousin's shoulder. "It's tough, Esme. It's a bit difficult."

Esme narrowed her eyes. "Charles can never know."

Margaret gently grabbed Esme's hands, and said in a tight voice that reassured Esme, "Esme- if Charles comes anywhere near you and your baby- I'll get Clyde to shoot him down with a rifle- and after that, he won't even want to lay a finger on you."

Esme smiled at her cousin, and took a deep, soothing breath as she felt the baby move inside of her.

This filled her with a happiness beyond her. The only thing that upset her was that Charles was the father. This baby didn't deserve to know about Charles being the father. The baby was innocent and has done nothing wrong.

Esme loved the being inside of her, and, as Margaret walked with her towards the barn to feed the horses, she cradled her stomach lovingly.

Carlisle rose from his desk to stand by the window.

He swiftly rolled up his blue sleeves, and folded his bare, marble arms against his chest where his shirt was unbuttoned, revealing the short, almost invisible, golden hairs on his chest. His golden eyes drifted through the glass of the window, and laid on a familiar creature that ate at the green grass in front of the porch.

Carlisle lifted his eyebrows.

The young deer was undisturbed, in spite of the fact that Edward sat on the front steps, watching it as if it were a film.

That is the same fawn that I had put on the Robertson land- the same one that the young daughter had taken. That was several weeks ago, but he has come here, now.

Carlisle smiled, leaving the library, and cutting past the stairs to the front door. He opened it silently- which was not particularly a problem- and stood beside Edward who glanced up at him, then looked back at the deer that now turned to look at them.

_They released it back into it's natural home_, Carlisle thought.

Edward nodded. "I saw them bring it back." His voice was below hearing. The deer began to feed noiselessly on the grass again. Edward continued, laying his hands on his knees. "A young, pregnant woman and the Robertson daughter. Margaret Robertson wanted it to be released back into the forest."

Carlisle leaned against one of the columns of the front porch. "Who was the pregnant woman?"

Edward hesitated, thinking for a quick moment. "I couldn't hear her thoughts that well, because I was leaving them because they were coming closer into the woods. I believe I heard that she is a cousin to Mrs. Robertson, and she is staying with them- obviously."

Carlisle nodded, now that Edward had confirmed the information.

They watched the deer eat for a few moments, then, at the sound of thunder, it took off back into the trees.


	6. Chapter 6: Afterbirth

CHAPTER SIX

Esme sat in the passenger seat with Margaret who drove along the road- sometimes whistling.

Esme giggled. "Well- aren't you funny?"

Margaret nodded, grinning. "You bet your bottom dollar."

Esme laughed, then stopped, holding her stomach again. "ooh."

Margaret narrowed her eyes, looking over at her cousin. "Are you certain you wanted to go to the school today? I mean- you were sick… this morning."

"No-no, I'm fine. I'll- I'll be fine." Esme turned towards the car window, grimacing.

Her stomach was hurting again- badly.

"Esme?"

Her cousin's voice sounded like it was miles away, as Esme began to whimper, holding her stomach. Her bottom lip trembled, and she repeatedly murmured, "I'm all right. I'm fine."

Margaret began to slow down on the gas pedal, and moaned, "No- you're not. I've seen that look before."

Esme was shaking her head, sharply grimacing. Then, after a minute, the seat beneath her grew wet. Her eyes widened. "My water broke…. My water broke, Margaret!"

Margaret gasped, and began to drive faster. "I'm taking you to the hospital, okay? We are going to the hospital, now!"

Esme sat in her seat, whimpering, bullets of sweat trickling off the side of her forehead.

Things started to move fast, and Esme could barely see it. She saw the fluroscent lights above her, and the nurses, and the doctors. She heard the words, "Hold on, Miss Platt, hold on!" she felt an exceedingly harsh pain in her abdomen, and her heart racing. She felt heat all around her, and she could smell the very faint scent of blood.

Then, all she was black.

Esme's eyes flickered open to a bright light above her, and she took a deep breath. Her lower body was sore, and her stomach ached a little. She felt ill and weary. The muscles in her legs hurt a bit, and she propped her elbows up, and leaned as far as she could.

She forced a smile to see Margaret standing beside her, but it soon faded when she saw the purple shadows underneath her red-rimmed eyes.

"Margaret?" Esme's voice was worried and concerned. For some reason, the only thing she could think about was her baby- her child. She began to frighteningly contemplate where he was and if he was okay. "Margaret, where is my baby?"

Margaret raised her eyebrows for a second, trying to smile, then shook her head, looking down- as if the attempt to be happy was too much. She felt sick, looking at Esme's glowing face.

Afterbirth, Margaret thought. After all that labor, the prize is the greatest award a woman could receive. The thought made tears stream down her face, and Margaret bit her bottom lip- unable to tell her.

Esme felt her heart accelerate, and she gasped, "Margaret! Where is my baby?"

Margaret opened her mouth to speak- trembling.

Esme waited, sweat trickling down her forehead, and her stomach churning.

"He died, Esme…. I'm so, so sorry." Margaret buried her face in her hands, crying. "I am so… sorry."

At that moment, the world seemed to be falling to millions of tiny shards around Esme. She felt as if someone had taken her heart, and burnt it. She felt as if she had been watching her heart be engulfed in flames, then stabbed- again and again. That pain was nothing compared to what she felt, now. These thoughts raged through her mind, and singed her heart. The sobs that she choked on reminded her that she never even heard her baby- never listened it to cry. Her chest erupted with shakes of sadness and she knew that she had never fed her own baby. She looked at her own, pale hands, and realized that she had never even held her baby.

Esme began to scream, and a nurse ran to her room, and tried to soothe her. Margaret ran to her side, and grabbed her hand, gently and rapidly stroked it.

Esme continued to scream, until she faded away into unconsciousness.

That's when she dreamed about the angel.

That's when she remembered her baby, growing older.

That's when she decided she would die.

"You didn't go to the hospital," Edward commented, walking upon Carlisle who sat at his desk, reading an old medical journal.

Carlisle nodded. "They called in, and told me that I wasn't needed today."

Edward smiled. "You think they're laying you off?"

Carlisle chuckled. "What do you think?"

They both musically laughed, and Carlisle closed the book, his eyes drifting towards the window.

A cold gentle breeze blew in through it, and brushed against Carlisle, but the cold was a friend- and him and Edward were just as smooth as the breeze itself.


	7. Chapter 7: Suicide & In The Morgue

CHAPTER SEVEN

A few weeks later…

Esme stood there for a long time… thinking.

Margaret and Clyde had taken the children to Boston for Christmas. Margaret had begged Esme to go with them, but Esme- that alone- seeing the children happily climb into their truck- brought tears to her eyes. Then, after so many denials and apologies, Margaret and Clyde drove away from the farm, leaving Esme who stood by herself in her bedroom- tears streaming down her face.

That was their final goodbye, Esme realized, the wind whipping her face.

The snow fell around her like powder- making a light pitter patter as it landed on the rocky ground around her. The trees moaned in the sharp wind, and the chills on her skin ran in waves all over her body.

She wore a thin blue nightgown, and the snow was biting at her legs, and that- empty- stomach.

Esme closed her eyes, stifling a sob, thinking of her child. "Ben." The tears streamed her face. "I would… have n-n-named you…B-Ben." Her sobs echoed- still overpowered by the moans of the stabbing winds- and she fell into the snow.

"Ben!" She screamed. Her tears froze on her pale cheeks.

Esme looked out at the sea in front of her, and… below her.

What was holding her back? There was nothing for her, but pain and suffering.

_I should have died- in childbirth. I should have died with my Ben. No-No-No, he shouldn't have died. No. Ben shouldn't have died. He was supposed to live, and I was supposed to love him_, she thought harshly, her hands numbing in the snow she clinched between her fingers. _Without Ben, who is there to love?_

Esme's mother drifted into her head, and she shuddered, pulling herself closer to the edge of the cliff. She thought about Margaret, and remembered that she had a family- she had everything. Esme remembered Charles, and sobbed again.

_Everywhere I turn, all there is, is pain, and these_, she wailed out loud, _painful reminders only make me lose myself._

Esme _was_ losing herself _completely._

She knew once that she was so kind and joyous. Now- the miserable climax of life had taken it's toll, and she knew that the downfall would be quick, short, and easy.

Esme slowly drew herself up from the ground, the snow freezing in her dark caramel hair, and closed her eyes.

The edge of the cliff was high above the freezing, crashing waters. The wind blew at her from all sides, and the snow raged around her in frightening torrents.

That's when she took her step.

"Carlisle?"

Carlisle felt his muscles tighten in his back as he leaned up from the red snow. He was staring, concerned at Edward, who stood above the elk. His face was stone, and Carlisle tried to make sense of it.

"Edward, what's the matter?" Then, Carlisle smelled the blood- and it was familiar.

Edward narrowed his eyes, lifting them towards his companion. "A woman has committed suicide."

Carlisle grabbed his arm, feeling an emotional pain that he had always felt- when he was in the hospital, close to the morgue. "You could hear her thoughts? Where is she?"

This was an upsetting matter to Carlisle. He would have to find her, and look at her. Then, he would notify the hospital, and she would be another poor body in that awful morgue.

Edward's answer almost shined a light on Carlisle's stormed mind. "You misunderstood, Carlisle. I can hear her thoughts." His voice became tight. "The woman's still alive."

Carlisle began to move away from him, looking in all directions around him, trying to get a better hold on that blood smell- it smelled like iron and… strawberries.

"Edward- go back to the house…. I'll be back soon."

Then, Carlisle took off in the direction of the smell with the snow pounding his back. Edward watched him go, then ran back to the house, reading Carlisle's fading thoughts.

_I have to find her before she dies._

Edward knew that Carlisle didn't know who she was, but someone like Carlisle would save anyone. Edward didn't hear traces of 'changing' in Carlisle's thoughts, but there was some familiarity that Carlisle had thought about the woman: the smell of her blood…. Strawberries.

Edward narrowed his eyes, and sat down at his piano, pressing his lips into a tight line.

At the bottom of the cliff, where the water crashed around his ankles and the rocks, Carlisle raced blindingly fast towards the young woman, and pressed his arms beneath her back, and pulled her to his chest. He could feel the coldness of her lips on his neck, and the extremely hot air of her breath as she rigidly breathed against his cold skin.

Carlisle felt the blood trickle all over his hands, and her leg which was broken in many places. One of her arms was limp against his side, and he looked at her white face to see blood trickling from the corner of her delicate, pink mouth. Then, he looked into her eyes, and stared.

These eyes were barely closed, but clear to Carlisle. They were a dark chocolate hazel. They were red rimmed with tears, and Carlisle unconsciously held her tighter to his chest.

"Are you Dr. Cullen?"

Carlisle heard them before they arrived, but three hunters bounded in fur coats and rifles stared at him as he observed her face. "I am! Please, notify the hospital!"

An older gentlemen rushed towards him, and replied, "I already sent one of my boys twenty minutes ago to tell 'em." After handing his coat to Carlisle, he added, "We saw her make the jump."

Carlisle narrowed his eyes, gently yet quickly wrapping the coat around her. Suddenly, he wished that he wasn't cold. He wished he was warm so that he could hold her completely to him, and heat her blood so she wouldn't be as close to death as she was now. He wanted to take her, and squeeze her in his arms. He wished he could build a fire for her- but under the circumstances of falling snow and wailing wind, this was impossible.

Carlisle began to walk away from the cliff, holding what he knew was 'Esme Ann Platt' in his arms. "I'm going to the forest, for the ambulance!" He wished he could run, but the hunters were with him, and they invited him into their truck.

It was polite of them, but absolutely necessary in Esme's case. It would be warmer inside the car, and she would have… better chances.

Carlisle knew, though, as she lay rigid and awkwardly in his arms- she would be paralyzed and mentally broken.

Why had she attempted to commit suicide?

Carlisle felt as if the girl he once met when she was sixteen had disappeared. Esme had been through something awful, he realized, and he didn't even want to know who would hurt such a glorious angel?

Calm down, Carlisle thought to himself. There was another emotion inside of him that seemed to be throbbing, but he withheld himself, watching the ambulance come into view.

"Thank you," Carlisle told the hunter, his eyes on Esme, and he climbed out of the truck.  
"Is she alive?" a doctor shouted, climbing out of the van.

Carlisle narrowed his eyes. "Barely!"

The doctor opened up the back of the van, and slipped Esme carefully onto a gurney. Carlisle watched, his eyes locked on her face which continued to turn side to side- slowly.

"Are you getting in with her?"

Carlisle turned to look at the doctor, and instantly nodded. "Yes." Then, before the doctor could close the back of the van, Carlisle swiftly climbed in, and sat next to Esme. When the van closed, he grabbed her hand. When the ambulance began to move along the road, Carlisle peered into her eyes which were closed now. Her chest rose every eleven seconds, rigidly. Carlisle had counted. He was watching everything she was doing.

What he was contemplating was something he felt strike him like a whip.

Carlisle wanted to change her. He thought it was a selfish thing to do, but, as he caringly pulled her wet hair out of her- frail, yet still beautiful- face, he realized that one such as her didn't deserve to die. No one deserved to die, but she still had a chance. Carlisle leaned above her, sadly listening to her heart break it's pattern. Intervals changed, and the heart was weak.

_If she dies_- Carlisle grimaced- _I will never forgive myself, and she _will_ die_. Carlisle narrowed his bronze eyes. _She's dying _now.

"How's she doing, Dr. Cullen?"

Without removing his eyes from her miserable face, Carlisle replied in a low voice, "She died."

The van became very quiet, and Carlisle clutched her hand in his, praying that her heart would keep beating.

Death was silent. Death was simple. I was surprised though. I wasn't in Heaven or in Hell. Maybe I had to wait. There was a time when God would take his believers into Heaven, but did that mean 'everyone'- even the ones who were already dead. Maybe that's why I'm here.

A new storm in Esme's mind erupted.

I killed myself. That's why I'm not in Heaven. I'm going to Hell.

She would have began to cry, but she felt that she had no strength.

She was dead. How could she?

Esme felt a strange sensation, though, at the tips of her fingers.

She had feeling.

Esme's brown eyes flickered slowly open, and she felt herself take a rigid yet soothing breath.

_Dr. Cullen? I must be dead_.

Carlisle kept a remarkable calm as he passed down the cases of stairs to the lowest level of the hospital. His lab coat he had borrowed from one of the hospital closets was carelessly slinking off of his broad shoulders.

He was going to the morgue, thinking only of her, and changing her, when two of the nurses who were standing on the stairs above him caught him off guard- their voices at least.

"Poor Esme," one murmured, "I didn't think she would go and kill herself."

"I've never even met her before," the other said.

The first one sounded miserable, and her words came as a shock to Carlisle. "Esme had a baby, but… it had a lung infection and… it didn't survive. Her cousin said she had a husband who doesn't take care of her. She left him about a month ago. Now, that all that's happened-"

"Oh my God… that's horrible."

Carlisle raced down the corridor, now- easily- and entered the morgue.

The silence would be unnerving to anyone else, but Carlisle passed by the clothed-over bodies, his eyes rested on the one that lay in the center.

It seemed that- in a center of a world that was dead to him- Esme was there, and he could hear her rigid breathing.

It made him take an unnecessary sigh, and he rushed to the table, and gracefully lifted the white cloth off of her body.

Through squinted eyes, she looked up at him, and he forced a smile.

A type of curiosity enveloped her pained expression, and she closed her eyes again.

With his upper body above her, leaning over her, he held her hand in his, and pulled it to his face. Her beautiful, hurt face was turned away from him- half into unconsciousness and away from reality. Her eyelashes fluttered slowly every few seconds. Her heart beat was irregular and slow. Carlisle watched her for a moment, remembering her- the first time he had met her. She was sixteen, and youthful. She seemed the whole of beauty and innocence. She had looked up at him, blushing. Her heart had accelerated. He had smiled. He had touched her broken leg with the tips of his fingers, and remembered looking at her red face.

She had been married- according to the nurse- but he hadn't taken care of her.

That frustrated Carlisle, and he held her hand tighter- yet softly- so he would crush it.

"Esme?" He said her name, and it rolled naturally off the tip of his tongue. "Esme, listen to me."

"Dr. Cullen?" she whispered, her voice tiny and croaked.

He leaned closer to her so that she could hear his voice. "Yes, yes- it's me." He was enlightened to know that she heard him. "It's Dr. Cullen."

She breathed rigidly again, her eyebrows narrowed.

The pain was hurting her again, and he was going to end it. He didn't want to watch Esme suffer.

"Esme," he whispered into her ear. He moved his lips down to her neck, the strawberry aroma filling his nostrils that began to slightly flare a little. He held her hand tighter- never before so intoxicated. He was so used to blood, but hers was so familiar and so lovely.

He would resist the wine.

"Stay strong for me," Esme heard him whisper, and his mouth pressed up against her neck.

_Changed_.


End file.
